


Tell it Slant

by solomonara



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Don't copy to another site, M/M, POV Outsider, Swearing, drug trade mentions, jaydick, jaydick-flashfic: rumors and reputations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 19:51:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18453464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solomonara/pseuds/solomonara
Summary: "I heard from my cousin whose landlord owns a building he's almost certain Red Hood has a bolthole in, andhesaid Nightwing and Red Hood got into it and Nightwing threw Hood through a window and then set fire to his place."





	Tell it Slant

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [DragonSorceress22](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonSorceress22/pseuds/DragonSorceress22) for the beta, and for naming the gas station XD

"So, you new?"

Amy couldn't help looking down at her nametag, just a quick flick of the eyes to check that yes, it still read TRAINEE where it was pinned on the chest of her bright red, one-owner-from-new Gas Giant employee polo.

Assistant Manager Call-Me-Ken saw her look. "No, I mean new to Gotham," he clarified.

"Oh. Yes, that too," Amy said.

"Can't imagine why anyone would move here."

"The weather, mostly."

Ken grinned. "You got a sense of humor. That's good. You're going to need it."

She did not need it to learn how to clean the slushee machine, or to learn to restock the shelves or activate the pumps, or to say "ID, please." A few hours in to her first ever shift, and she figured Ken's comment had been an example of Assistant Managerial Humor and she could ignore it.

Then eleven PM rolled around, and the place was dead, and Ken was leaning on the slushee counter, clearly fidgeting for a smoke but reluctant to abandon his Assistant Managerial Duties (namely, Amy) before his appointed break time. She had to admit, he took his job seriously. She felt very well-trained. And bored.

"This shift always like this?" she asked.

"If we're lucky."

Amy snorted.

"You were expecting a lot of action at the old Gas Giant?" Ken asked. When her only answer was a half-hearted shrug, he pushed away from the glass with a sigh. "Okay, new kid, real quick, 'cuz someone's gotta tell you. Gotham isn't all high-speed car chases and Joker gas and bats, you got it? The majority of us just keep our heads down and get along fine. You want to go cape-sighting, go to Bludhaven. Nightwing's showy enough for three vigilantes."

"Nightwing doesn't wear a cape," Amy pointed out.

Ken gave her a suspicious look. "Seriously, if that's what you're here for, you might wanna rethink that."

She rolled her eyes. "Everyone knows what Nightwing looks like. Like you said, showy. I'm here for school."

"You came _to_ Gotham for school? For Gotham U?"

"What they lack in prestige they make up for in full ride scholarships." It was probably the only way they could lure students into a city with a reputation like Gotham's, which was lucky because that was also the only way Amy could escape her asshole parents.

"Ah. Right. Okay, then." Ken relaxed a little. "That why all the night shifts, then?"

"Yep. Classes during the day, glamorous gas station life by night." Full-ride was a little less full than it could be; room, board, and books weren't covered.

"Hey, don't knock it. Can I give you some advice?"

She nodded and he proceeded to, at length. Don't cut through parks at night. Avoid the last train of the day on the red line. Make friends with bodega cats. Listen to the radio for air quality advisories. Standard city stuff. He very distinctly didn't mention one thing, though, and Amy was beginning to feel like there was a giant, neon pink bat in the room.

"So," she said when Ken stopped for breath. "The, uh. Vigilante situation? I'm from Kansas; we don't really have them there. Anything I should know?"

Ken snorted. "Nah."

Amy gave him her best skeptical eyebrows.

"Seriously," Ken said. "Everyone goes on about the bats in this city. Everyone insists they've met them, been saved by them, saw them making out on a rooftop, made out with them on a rooftop… it's all bullshit. You're never gonna see a bat up close unless they want you to, and if that happens it's already too late. And you're probably not gonna be posting on Twitter about it the next day."

"Bats… plural?"

"Yeah — what, you don't know?"

"I know about Batman. And Robin, of course, but he's not a bat. He's a… bird," Amy said, feeling a little foolish.

"Oh, we call them all bats and you need both hands to count 'em all. You got Robin, then Red Robin 'cuz I guess they were running out of names. Batgirl of course, and Black Bat. Then Signal, he's all right, they say he goes around in the daytime but I think that's just some guy on a motorcycle. Bat _woman_ , not to be confused with Batgirl; Batwoman's a redhead and Batgirl's blonde these days. Oh, and Red Hood, too."

"Red Hood? The… the _drug lord_ Red Hood?"

"Hey, that's ancient history."

Amy was pretty sure it had been like, two years ago, max. People were always interested in the latest crazy coming out of Gotham and he had been… unsubtle. "He's a bat?"

She must have sounded skeptical because Ken folded his arms and grunted. "Yeah, he's a bat," he said firmly. "Wears it on his chest, so you know he's one of ours. Rather have him saving my butt than Nightwing."

"What does Nightwing have to do with it?"

"He _used_ to be a bat, 'til he abandoned Gotham 'cuz he wanted a city all to himself," Ken said. "He's not a real Gothamite. Not like Red Hood and the others."

"What— but— how do you know? You just said no one ever sees these people."

" _Well,_ I mean, _most_ jerks who say they see them are just talking shit, but… okay, look, I heard this from my cousin whose landlord owns a building he's almost certain Red Hood has a bolthole in, and _he_ said Nightwing came waltzing back into town a few days ago – probably needed help cuz he can't handle a whole city by himself, arrogant bastard – and he and Red Hood got into it and Nightwing threw Hood through a window and then set fire to his place. My cousin said his landlord saw the glass on the pavement outside himself."

"Oh my God. Was he okay?"

"What, the landlord?"

"Red Hood! After being thrown through a window!"

"Oh, he was long gone by then. Prolly chasing down Nightwing to kick his ass for playing dirty. No one gets the drop on one of our bats without cheating."

"There are _rules_?"

"Yeah, the rules are don't fuck with the bats. Anyway the very next day the cops wake up to find five major dealers all boxed up nice for them on their doorstep, complete with damning evidence, so I know Red Hood is just fine. And where's Nightwing? Licking his wounds."

"How do you know?" Amy asked again, not entirely sure Ken wasn't just showing off for the newbie.

Ken glanced quickly at the door. There was a lone car filling up outside, no customers in evidence. "I maaaybe might know someone in one of the gangs that got dusted up that night. Friend of a friend, I am in no way involved. But the guy told my friend who told me that when the Hood came calling he didn't have his helmet and the whole side of his face was bruised up pretty bad. And toward the end of the fight Nightwing comes swinging in, probably to take credit, and wouldn't you know he's got his own scrapes and cuts, and his costume's all fucked up. Apparently he and Hood had some words and Nightwing slunk off, tail between his legs." Ken shrugged. "Or that's what I heard."

"Jesus," said Amy.

"Yeah. Can't keep a Gotham boy down. Anyway, it's time for my break. You good for a few?"

Amy looked around the completely empty store. "Yep." Ken gave her a little salute and headed for the back exit. Amy stood at attention for a few minutes before giving in to boredom, dragging a magazine from the sale rack near the register, and flipping through it with her elbows on the counter.

What happened next happened so quickly that later Amy became convinced she'd somehow lost time. One moment she was idly perusing 8 Small Fruit Trees You Can Grow On Your Balcony! and the next she was under the counter as glass tinkled around her. She didn't remember the sound the motorcycle had made as it and its rider had careened through the front wall, taking out the window in the process, but she imagined it must have been unspeakably loud. She peeked over the counter.

The motorcycle lay on its side, crushing a shelving unit. There was a carnage of Sno-balls, Twinkies, and Hostess cupcakes splattered beneath it. The rider had flown one aisle further and lay sprawled on his back over a downed rack of chips. The smell of powdered cheese filled the air.

The rider – ex-rider – groaned and started to sit up, which was when Amy noted the leather jacket, the red bat, the black domino stretched across a face with a hideously healing bruise all down one side.

"Hood!" came a pissed-off sounding shout from outside. Nightwing leapt through the hole the motorcycle had made and Amy didn't think. She darted around from behind the counter, and, slipping on Doritos bags and the shattered remains of their contents, slid between the prone Red Hood and Nightwing.

"You stay away from him!" she shouted. At some point she'd picked up a Pringles can, which she now held up threateningly.

Nightwing skidded to a stop, almost losing his footing in a slick of cream filling. "Uh?"

From behind Amy came a small wheeze which quickly resolved into laughter. She snuck a glance behind her.

Red Hood was still sprawled amongst what was left of the snack aisle, but his shoulders were shaking with laughter. "She— you— oh, God, my everything. Ow," he gasped out.

"Hood," Nightwing said again, taking a step forward, and again, Amy didn't think. She threw the Pringles can at his head.

Nightwing ducked, moving more smoothly than Amy would have thought humanly possible, but he'd forgotten his footing. The snack cakes had their final revenge and he went down hard, looking utterly baffled as he did so. Amy stared, suddenly _very_ concerned about what might come next.

There was a rustling crunch from behind her as Red Hood got ponderously to his feet. "It's okay, gas station girl. We all want to throw a Pringles can at his head sometimes," he said, grinning at her. He nudged her gently aside, then offered a hand down to Nightwing, who, to Amy's surprise, took it and used it to pull himself to his feet. There was a long streak of white down one of the legs of his costume.

"Oh _that's_ going to go over well on the street," he groaned.

"Whatever, at least you didn't get your bike thrown through fucking plate glass," Hood said.

"Or my _self_. This is why you should wear a helmet, Hood."

"Ha. Ha. Hilarious."

The two of them began picking their way through the debris and back through the hole in the front of the store. Red Hood stumbled a little in the detritus and Nightwing grabbed his arm and stuck himself under it, other arm going around Red Hood's waist for support. But he seemed to be leaning on Red Hood as much as Red Hood was leaning on him. Amy watched them go, brow knitted.

"Hey, sorry about the mess," Red Hood said just when Amy thought they were going to leave without saying anything. "Tell your manager he can take it up with me if he's mad."

"Uh. Right," Amy said. "I'll do that."

And then they were gone.

Two seconds later, the back door opened and Ken walked back in from his break. "Everything all right in here? I thought I heard— holy shit." He stared at the mess, the mostly-missing front of the store, and at Amy. "What… how…"

Amy eyed the wreckage and Ken's reddening face. "Nightwing did it," she said.

"Nightwing? Of course it was fucking Nightwing. That bastard," Ken said. "Come on, I guess it's time to introduce you to the cleaning supplies."

* * *

A few hours later and Toyman was finally cleaned up and put away, the flow of viral explosive parasites he'd been running through Gotham and Bludhaven hidden inside Furbies (disguised as drug mules) entirely stemmed. Nightwing and Red Hood sat atop one of the taller skyscrapers in the Financial District, surrounded by gargoyles, taking a well-earned rest.

"Can't believe his crap hijacked my helmet," Jason groused.

"At least we found out soon enough to get it off your head before it blew," Dick pointed out. It had been a close thing, though. Jason had had to grab Dick and dive through the window of his safehouse in an uncontrolled fall as it exploded behind them. Luckily, Dick had caught the rail of a fire escape several floors down and stopped their fall, but it had wrenched his shoulder badly and the abrupt stop had rammed the side of Jason's face directly into the iron rails.

"How's the shoulder?" Jason asked, as though he could hear Dick's thoughts.

"Sore. How's your… everything?" Dick asked.

"Also sore. Don't grin at me like that, Dickie, you're the one with white stuff drying down your leg."

"Who would have thought this stuff would be so hard to wipe off," Dick said with a serious frown at his costume. He'd made an effort, but there was still a slightly lighter greasy smear left behind.

"It's because it's made of petroleum and shit," Jason said. "It's not food."

Jason, of course, had taken the loss of his helmet and his safehouse personally. Working together, they'd quickly tracked down the drug lines Toyman was using to move his "product." The drug runners had been entirely unaware that the Furbies held something other than cocaine, but it was still an opportunity to take them out. Jason had made the "executive decision" to do that on his own since Dick had dislocated his shoulder, but of course Dick had found out about it and gone trailing after.

They'd had their usual "You don't take care of yourself" fight and in the end Dick had promised he'd just back up Oracle from the sidelines on this one. But then tonight Jason had rousted Toyman from his hiding spot and ended up chasing him through Gotham on his bike, while Toyman rode some hideous amalgamation of a carousel horse, a toy airplane, and a T-rex.

From his vantage point with Babs, Dick could see exactly where it was going to go badly for Jason – after all, Toyman was still in possession of tech that could hijack other tech and make it _explode_ – and had sped across the city to help how he could.

They'd stopped Toyman's rampage, but the maneuver had caused Jason to lose control of his bike as he pulled a hard turn, cornering Toyman with Nightwing flanking on the other side, and, well, now there was one more traumatized gas station attendant in Gotham.

Jason snickered.

"What's funny?" Dick asked.

"Gas station girl. Protecting me from big bad you."

"Well I can understand the sentiment even if her target was a little off," Dick huffed.

"You ever wonder what goes through their heads when we crash into their lives like that?" Jason asked.

"Probably something along the lines of 'God I hope my insurance covers this,'" Dick suggested.

"Ha. Probably," Jason said. "I'm glad we're on this side of the chaos."

Dick beamed at him.

"What?" Jason asked. "What's the grin for?"

"You said _we_. I'm glad we're in this together too, Jay."

"Wow, spare me the cheese, boy wonder. That's not even what I said."

"But it's what you meant," Dick sing-songed at him, poking his shoulder with each word.

Jason grabbed him by the front of the costume, jerking him forward. "You want to lose that finger?" he asked. Dick's grin didn't falter, he just leaned into the tug and pecked Jason on the nose.

Then suddenly Jason's hands were empty and Dick's laugh was echoing around him as he somersaulted off the building. Jason grinned and got to his feet, planning his jump a little more carefully, watching Dick's trajectory. If Nightwing was challenging Red Hood to catch him, he was definitely up to the task.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from an Emily Dickinson poem: "Tell all the truth but tell it slant—"


End file.
